


The Pudding Incident

by dasfreefree



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Office, Birthday, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gift Fic, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasfreefree/pseuds/dasfreefree
Summary: You meet Miya Osamu when he takes the last pudding in the office cafeteria. (Happy Birthday, Ele!)





	The Pudding Incident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earais/gifts).



> Happy birthday to a friend and a pal, Ele! Since there’s a lack of Osamu content, he's one of your faves, and I loved that chapter title page drawing with him as a business man, I decided to go with an office!AU where you and Osamu work at different companies in the same building, but still end up in the cafeteria together every day.
> 
> I’m sorry if he’s a little ooc because this is my first time writing him and also I definitely haven’t seen or heard enough from him to get a better gauge of his character.
> 
> Anyway, have a great birthday, friend! :^)

The Pudding Incident starts like this:

Midday on a Monday, a colleague invites you to grab lunch from the office’s cafeteria and you agree—realizing that you haven’t taken a single break since arriving for work that morning. She talks about…something on the way there. You’re not paying all too much attention to her words (she doesn’t seem to stop to take a breath anyway). Still dazed from having concentrated on computer screen for so many hours, you don’t snap out of it until you’re already on line a putting prepared food onto your tray.

The pudding where the desserts are lined up looks good today. Since you already know it’s going to be a long week and you’ll have to put in some extra hours, you decide to spoil yourself a little bit for the time being. When you reach the desserts, the person ahead of you takes what seems to be the last bowl.

Well, it’s not the end of the world. The rest of the dessert array is tantalizing enough, but the pudding looked good and you were already starting to crave it. There’s a good chance they have more that they’ll put out, so you decide to ask one of the employees behind the counter.

“Excuse me, do you know when you’re going to put out more pudding?”

“Er, that was the last one. They usually don’t go as quickly as they did today, so we only make them in limited quantities.”

You scrunch your nose a little at the response, but thank him for the answer, nonetheless.

No pudding this time, but you’re still set on treating yourself. Just as you’re deciding between the giant black-and-white cookie and the pound cake slice instead, the person in front of you turns to you.

“Do you want this?” He nods his head toward the custard bowl on his tray. “You can have it. I don’t really need it.” One would normally expect a sheepish grin along with a statement like that, but his expression is rather neutral, notwithstanding the slightly cocked eyebrow. It’s as if he’s not embarrassed by it at all.

It’s then you notice he’s quite good-looking. He’s tall and broad, with a suit that fits well enough to show it off. His slate gray hair is swept to the side stylishly. You’re so preoccupied with taking in his good looks that you almost forget that he asked you a question.

“No, um, I can take something else really,” you reply, shaking your head to snap out of it. “It’s yours anyway.”

“Not until I pay for it,” he says. But you’ve already taken a different treat and put it on your plate. He eyes you and then the line of people that’s starting to grow behind you and nods. “Alright then.”

You can’t help but find his surrender charming; something about it is very honest. When you turn to him to say something else, he’s already online at one of the registers. You try to join him on that line, but as you make your way over, another register opens, and you’re trapped when the worker makes eye contact with you and motions for you to come over. The attractive stranger is gone by the time you finish your transaction.

You don’t think much else of it until after you’ve eaten. When you finish lunch, your colleague offers to wait at your table with your things while you use the restroom. Upon your return, she’s cradling her cup of coffee, a small smirk on her lips when she catches sight of you. It’s only when you’re close enough that you realize there something new on your tray. It’s the bowl of pudding from earlier.

“A cute guy left it,” she says.  Her smirk widens into a grin and you feel your cheeks heat up. Trying to hide your face from her, you glance around the dining area to find the guy from earlier, only to see him among a group of people exiting the cafeteria. His eyes fall upon you and he stops in his tracks. A small smile forms on his lips and he nods once before leaving.

After letting out a slight huff, you turn your attention back to the pudding. It’s still sealed, so it’s probably safe to eat. Your colleague giggles as you sit and open the dessert, unaware that you’re already planning for tomorrow.

The next day you set an alarm for yourself to head to the cafeteria. It’s around the same time you went yesterday even though you can’t be sure he’ll be there at the same time you are today, or if he even goes at all. Either way, it’s worth a shot. When you get on the line, you catch sight of his figure heading to the register. Perfect timing. If no one ahead of you holds up the line for an obscene amount of time, you’ll get the job done.

Once you’ve gotten your food, pudding and all, you scan the dining area again. You find him rather quickly (it’s easy to find someone with such unusually colored hair as his) seated by himself at one of the counters. He mindlessly puts food to his mouth as he scribbles something on the document before him. He’s already handsome, but as you approach him, you can’t help but think that he looks especially so when concentrated on work.

Enough, you’re getting weird about it, you tell yourself with a shake of your head.

“Excuse me,” you call out to him. He looks up from his work. “I believe I owe you one.” You hold up the custard bowl for him to take. He stares at it for a moment and then at you.

“I can’t accept it,” he mutters.

“Why not?”

“Because then this would be over.”

“Look, I don’t like being in stranger’s debts. It was kind of you to leave your dessert for me yesterday, but I’d like to repay you sooner than later.”

“Miya Osamu.”

“What?”

“That’s my name. What’s yours?” His sudden change in conversation throws you off-guard, but you do suppose it’s rude to not have already told him your name, so you do. “Now that we know each other’s names, we’re not total strangers. So, consider yesterday a gift from a friend.”

Something about his smile tells you that this is most fun he has in a whole work day. You decide to play along. Whether it’s because you take pity on him for having a boring job or because you like talking to him already, you can’t say. Maybe it’s a little of both. Regardless, you set your tray down on the counter and take the seat next to him.

“Well then, the same thing to you, Miya. Consider this a gift from your new friend,” you tease. You place the bowl on his tray with a satisfied grin. He sighs knowing already that he won’t be able to convince you to keep it.

~*~

That’s how your friendship and crush on Miya Osamu starts. His good looks don’t charm you on their own, but his deadpan comebacks never fail to get a laugh from you. He’s good lunchtime company, and before you know it he’s also a good after work dining/drinking buddy too. Osamu doesn’t say a whole lot most of the time, but he’ll sit and listen to whatever you need to say.

Sometimes, that’s plenty enough. Other times, you feel a somewhat guilty for venting to him more than he’ll vent to you. (Not that you haven’t tried to get him to open up more, but you also don’t want to pry). To make it up to him, you invite him over to your place one weekend for homemade dessert.

When you invite him, he blinks in thought. It’s almost unfair that a twenty-something salesman can look _that_ cute for no reason. Nonetheless, a small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“You have to make my favorite, though,” he says.

So Saturday evening rolls around. You made the pudding first thing that afternoon, just to be sure that it would chill in time for Osamu’s arrival. You spend the rest of the time tidying up and making sure your appearance is up to snuff, but without seeming like you aren’t casual about all this. You only have his attire to compare yourself to when he gets there. Admittedly, you think he looks dashing in a suit and perfectly coiffed hair, and yet his dressed down appearance is making your heart beat quicker. There’s something incredibly intimate about the two of you not having to be dressed in work clothes.

“I hope you’re hungry,” you chime.

“I just had dinner a little while ago,” he says, “but I always have room for dessert.”

He gives you a small but cheeky smile and you lead him to the kitchen. After pouring tea out for the both of you, you pull the pudding from the fridge. You set his bowl out in front of him and take your seat.

“Thanks for the food.”

You hold off on taking a spoonful, wanting to see his reaction first. It doesn’t take long for his neutral expression to give way to something else.

It’s certainly not what you were expecting. Osamu grimaces and swallows harshly, taking his tea to his lips almost immediately after.

“What’s wrong?”

 “Salty,” he explains.

He takes another sip of the tea trying to rid his mouth of the taste. You scoop a spoonful into your mouth to be sure. He’s right about the salt. Unlike him however, you won’t force it down without a drink to accompany it. While you’re cleansing your palate to the best of your abilities, you try to recall exactly how you managed to mess this one up so badly.

Maybe you got swept up in your excitement in having Osamu come over for the first time. Maybe you were jamming out too hard to the music you blasted while you made it. Plain and simple: you weren’t paying attention when you put salt instead of sugar in. Guilt starts to creep up on you and you feel a sting in the back of your eyes.

“I’m really sorry. You came all the way here for this.” Your voice quivers as you apologize. The tears won’t stop even when you try to blink them away.

“You don’t have to cry. It was an honest mistake,” he offers with a sigh. It’s not a sigh of disappointment; it’s strange how you can tell that it’s because he’s unsure of what to do or say about this. On any other occasion, you might have teased him for his inexperience with comforting someone who’s crying.

You shake your head. “I know, but I wanted to do this nice thing for you because I really like you.”

There’s a moment of silence after that. You hide your face in your hands and miss how his eyebrows raise at your words. Maybe you’re too fraught now to realize what you said, but it isn’t lost on him. You pull your hands away to find a napkin—something—to wipe your face with. In that time, Osamu moved a little closer to you.

“Hey, can you look at me?” he asks. His voice is soft with a small hint of understanding. After you dry your face off, you turn to him.

Even with his usual expression, there’s compassion in the way he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. When he takes your face in his hands, you wonder if he can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. His thumbs caress the spots where a few stray tears remain and you almost forget how you even wound up in this situation in the first place. It’s unfair that you can’t read what’s going on his head when you’re certain your short circuiting is obvious.

And then, he smiles. Mischievously, if you aren’t mistaken.

“It’s okay. I’ll take a kiss from you to make up for it.”

Well, that’s the final blow. If you were a computer, the blue screen of death would pop up that instant. Your mouth hangs open and trembles, but no words come out. All you can do is manage a couple of nods. In your dreams, you’d gotten to this point differently, but the part of you that isn’t wallowing in self-pity is still fighting for your greater good.

Osamu closes the gap between the two of you, his lips taking yours. The way he kisses you is so warm, you forget everything else for the moment. His thumbs continue to draw soft circles on your face, while you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer.

When you finally part, you’re both at loss for words. He keeps his brown eyes locked onto yours while you catch your breath. Just when it seems like he’s going to lean in again, there’s a twisted growl from his stomach. He looks down at the source and you do too. A beat passes before you burst into laughter.

“I don’t think kissing will satisfy that, unfortunately,” you tease. “I know the store-bought kind isn’t your favorite, but there’s a convenience store a few blocks from here. Come on.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to bring me homemade pudding on Monday for lunch.”

“How about another kiss and we’ll call it a deal?”

He smiles again and leans in once more. It wasn’t the night you planned, but it still turned out to be a good one.

That’s how the Pudding Incident concludes.


End file.
